


In Charge: A Handcuff fic

by Frangipanidownunder



Category: X Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-14 20:38:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13015674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frangipanidownunder/pseuds/Frangipanidownunder
Summary: Handcuffs are canon? How?





	In Charge: A Handcuff fic

The first time was an accident. Really. She was trying to cuff a suspect and he’d rushed to her aid. Somehow, in the driving rain and chaos he’d ended up wearing the bracelets and she’d laughed. Full fucking bore. He couldn’t see the tears from the raindrops. She dropped a sudden and unexpected kiss on his mouth and he couldn’t defend himself. Couldn’t stop the surge of blood. Couldn’t stop his gaze from straying to his crotch. Couldn’t help but notice the way she ran her tongue over her lips when she saw it too.  
But she was in charge.  
The second time was an oversight. He’d got drunk with the Gunmen and Diana had fucked him over for something he chose not to remember. He’d knocked at Scully’s door and she let him in without saying a word, just tied her robe belt tighter so that her breasts stood out more.  
She’d made him coffee while he pulled out her gun and her badge and her handcuffs and he’d pretended he was some cool FBI agent who chased real criminals and made people’s lives safer. When he refused to drink the coffee, she’d lured him to the couch with a smile. When he sat down and slapped his lap, she’d whipped the cuffs from him. He might have been over the limit but his reactions weren’t that slow. He caught one half and laughed at her. She laughed back and the cold clink of metal around his wrist chafed as much as the bitter feeling of failure. She grabbed his other hand and locked that one too.  
“Wanna fuck, Dana?” It wasn’t his best pick-up line. He realised that in the cold grey dawn, when memory and humiliation struck a double whammy. The odour of stale coffee hit him. A brown stain ran through his tee shirt and his chin stung. She’d made him drink the steaming liquid before lying him down to sleep it off.  
She didn’t say a word when she unlocked the cuffs. But she did leave the coffee mug on the table for him to drink all by himself.  
She made it perfectly clear she was in charge.  
The third time was by design. Their fucking had become otherworldly. She locked the cuffs behind his back and he sipped, drank and guzzled. She levitated above him and life on other planets meant nothing when he spurted out over the rug at the foot of her sofa, her heels digging into his shoulder blades and his name on her breath.  
She didn’t unlock his wrists until she’d left them red raw. The pressure of his knuckles at the small of his back while she rode him left him bruised and smarting.  
“Feels good, doesn’t it?” she said, biting his chest to leave her calling card. In charge.  
It was a thing now. A kink. A fucking amazing addiction. When her arms were pulled tight behind her, the knobs of her shoulder bones stuck forward like cherries ripe for sucking. Her breasts pushed together, nipples like beacons, calling his name only. When his arms were restrained she devoured him, laving him with the flat of her tongue, dipping into him with the tip, running her hands over him until he bucked and strained and conceded.  
He always conceded. There was no choice. He needed her to be in charge.


End file.
